


Dearly Beloved

by FrancisWilloughby



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Divorce, Friendship/Love, M/M, Wedding Drama, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 14:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20175610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancisWilloughby/pseuds/FrancisWilloughby
Summary: Tim and Armie have been dancing around each other since they met filming Call Me By Your Name, but their timing has never been right. On Tim's wedding day, Armie has to decide, once and for all, if he's going to speak or die.





	Dearly Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> A month or so ago I read a 'stop the wedding' story in another fandom and knew we needed a Charmie version. I threw the prompt out on Tumblr hoping one of the many brilliant writers in the fandom would pick it up, but alas, no one did. I was sad and angry on the day of the horrifying massacre in El Paso and decided to write it myself because I needed a distraction. This was supposed to be short, fluffy and fun, but it went off the rails a bit and ended up longer and more angsty than I intended. 
> 
> Total fiction, per usual.

** _August 12, 2023_ **

Armie is afraid he’s going to sweat through his new suit. 

It’s a gorgeous, tan linen he’s paired with a periwinkle tie and a crisp white shirt. Although Tom had assured him the lightweight fabric would help him stay cool, Armie is wilting in the sticky late summer heat. 

“Who the fuck gets married outdoors during August in New York," he grumbles under his breath, dabbing perspiration from his upper lip with a wrinkled pocket square. 

From what he’s heard, Jules had insisted on the location as a condition for holding the wedding in the states instead of a vineyard in the south of France, as he had desired.

Armie begrudgingly admits the venue is stunning — a turn-of-the-century stone mansion set among acres of lush emerald lawns stretching down to the shores of a shimmering lake. Rows of white wooden chairs face an arch of willow branches festooned with delicate ivory sweet peas and clusters of pink and lavender hydrangeas. 

The guests are an eclectic mix of Tim’s high school friends, the grooms’ families, business associates and Hollywood A-listers Tim has worked with over the years. Noah and Greta sit next to Saoirse and her boyfriend. Ansel is here with his wife. Looking around, Armie also spots Lucas, Kid Cudi, Brad, Christian, Matthew, Laura, Daniel. Everyone who has ever shared a movie set with Tim has grown to love him by the time filming wraps. Armie knows the feeling well.

He’s surprised to discover he’s twisted his program into a tight spiral. When he tries to smooth it out against his thighs, the heavy card stock curls back in on itself. Although the paper is damp from his sweaty palms, to Armie’s dismay, the grooms’ names, printed in an elegant swooping script, remain achingly clear — Jules Bertrand and Timothée Chalamet. 

Armie looks over his shoulder, searching for Luca and his partner, Ferdinando. He’s saved them seats beside him because he will need Luca’s calm, steadying presence to make it through the ceremony. Sucking in the thick, humid air, Armie tries to quell his rising panic. 

“Buongiorno Armie!” Luca booms, approaching him from behind. 

The famed director takes one look at Armie’s anguished expression and folds his close friend into a tight embrace, heat be damned. 

Sagging against Luca, Armie presses his head into the crook of his neck and whimpers, “I thought you weren’t going to make it in time.” 

“Tesoro,” Luca pulls back so he can see his face, “you know I would never miss Teemee’s wedding.” 

“I know, I know it’s just,” Armie sniffles, struggling to pull himself together. “I need you.” 

“And here I am.” He softly pats Armie’s cheek.

Armie hugs Ferdinando and the three men settle into their seats. Luca is chatting amiably about their flight from Italy and the train ride upstate, but Armie’s attention drifts. He wonders if Tim or Jules will stand at the front while the other walks down the aisle or if they will both walk in? If they do, will they do so together, alone or accompanied by a friend or family member? Armie hadn’t asked Tim for many details. 

Consumed by his thoughts, Armie belatedly realizes an expectant hush has fallen over the guests. A string quartet arranged in a semi-circle to the left of the floral wedding arch begins to play.

Will leads Tim’s tiny maternal grandmother down the aisle, followed by Giullian, who is supporting a regal elderly woman with a crown of snowy white hair, whom Armie assumes is Marc’s mother. Marc and Nicole, radiant in a silk ecru frock, are next. The Bertrands, an incredibly chic middle-aged couple, enter last. Once the family members are seated in the front row, the musicians transition seamlessly into Johann Pachelbel’s “Canon in D Major.” 

Armie rises on shaky legs, grateful for Luca’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. Jules and a younger man who looks remarkably like him — both of them tall, with dark hair and clear blue eyes — are first. In an impeccably tailored dove grey suit, Jules is handsome and dashing, just as Armie feared. His gut twists as they glide by, but he’s already looking past them at Tim and Pauline, who are descending the steps from the wide stone terrace. 

His heart squeezes painfully. 

Pauline is gorgeous in a sleeveless, aquamarine dress and dainty silver sandals. Tim is breathtaking. His suit is the palest pink, the shade of a single drop of red food coloring swirled through a bowl of fluffy whipped cream. His hair, longer than the last time Armie saw him nearly five months ago, skims his shoulders, with one rebellious curl tumbling over his forehead. 

Hazel eyes twinkling, Pauline winks at Armie. Tim, however, glides by without a glance, his unwavering gaze focused on his beaming husband-to-be. 

Armie deflates. 

_What the fuck did you expect? That Tim would look at you as he walked down the aisle instead of the man he’s about to marry? The man he loves? Jesus, you’re pathetic._

As the last notes fade, carried over the water on a warm breeze, the besotted couple clasp hands and face the officiant. 

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, the joining of two hearts …” 

**_June 2016_**

“Do you see my sunglasses out there? The Ferragamos?” Armie calls from the bathroom. 

When his question is met with silence, he peeks around the open door.

“Timmy, a little help here, please. Sunglasses?” 

Tim is slumped in an upholstered armchair in the corner of the room, slim fingers toying with the zipper on the red hoodie he would slip on between takes to keep warm. His eyes are closed and he doesn’t make a move to search. 

Armie tramps across the room, flip-flops slapping against the tiled floor. Crouching in front of Tim, he gently shakes one sharp knee. 

“Timmy, come on,” he sighs. “We agreed we wouldn’t do this.”

Scowling, his eyes pop open.

“You agreed. _I_ didn’t make any promises.” 

“I don’t have time for this bullshit, man. I gotta finish packing.”

“No one’s stopping you,” Tim snaps, crossing his thin arms over his chest and refusing to look at Armie. 

“Look, we knew this day was coming. The fantasy is over. It’s time to go home and rejoin the real world. So, put on your big boy underpants and stop being so fucking dramatic.” 

Tim’s eyes fill with tears and his bottom lip trembles. Feeling like an asshole, Armie immediately drops his false bravado. 

“I’m sorry, Timmy. I’m sorry. Hey, don’t cry. Please,” he pleads, hands stroking up and down Tim’s thighs. 

Tim releases a broken little sob and launches himself at Armie, landing in his lap and knocking him on his ass.

Armie holds him while he weeps against his shoulder, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words in his ear. Several minutes elapse before Tim sits up, eyes puffy and red, and swipes his sleeve under his runny nose. 

“Will you miss me?” 

“God Timmy, how can you even ask me that? Of course I will.” 

Seemingly satisfied with that response, he nods, fingertips dancing over Armie’s nape and slipping into his silky, golden hair. “Armie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Will you kiss me before you go?” 

Armie freezes. They have been flirting dangerously with the blurred line between fiction and reality for the duration of the six-week shoot. Steamy on-screen kisses and gentle caresses often felt less like acting than wish fulfillment. 

Although their bodies frequently betrayed them, Armie told himself they hadn’t actually crossed a line since, with the exception of the impromptu make-out rehearsal at Luca’s direction, they never kissed or touched intimately when the cameras weren’t rolling. But he was lying to himself the entire time and he knew it. They hadn’t given in to their intense physical attraction, but strong feelings had taken root in their hearts and blossomed just the same. 

“Timmy, you know that’s not a good idea …” 

“Please, Armie. Just one kiss. Then I promise, I’ll be good,” he says, glassy eyes peeking up at Armie through wet clumps of long eyelashes. 

Armie’s resolve crumbles like a sandy cliff during a torrential downpour. 

“Just one,” he breathes, trying and failing to sound firm. 

Tim’s lips are soft and warm sliding across his. Armie lets him control the kiss, following blindly when Tim angles his head and opens his mouth, tongues twirling and stroking. Tim groans, twines his arms around Armie’s neck and shifts closer. Armie reels him in, one hand spanning his narrow shoulders, the other at his lower back, until their bodies are flush. When Tim tentatively rolls his hips, Armie grunts and cups Tim’s ass in his large palms, aiding the slow, sensual grind. 

Dropping his head back, Armie surrenders to Tim’s frenzied assault on his neck — he's licking, sucking and nipping at the unshaven skin. 

“Fuck, Timmy.” 

** _March 2017 _ **

Armie opens the door and sweeps his arm through the air with a flourish. 

“Here it is, your home, sweet home for as long as you need it.”

“Cool, cool,” Tim says, stepping inside the spacious guest room and dropping his stuffed blue leather backpack at the foot of the queen-size bed. “You sure this is OK with Elizabeth?” 

“Of course, Timmy. She loves you, too.” 

Armie saunters across the room and throws open the drapes, letting the late afternoon sunlight pour through the ground-floor window overlooking the patio and swimming pool. 

“Too? Does that mean you luuuurve me Mr. Hammer?” Tim croons, batting his eyes. 

“Shut up, asshole,” Armie laughs, plucking a decorative pillow from the heap on the bed and chucking it at Tim’s head. 

Pointing, he continues the tour, “Walk-in closet’s there and here,” he crosses to the other side of the room and opens a second door, “is your bathroom.” 

Tim gawks at the glass-enclosed shower that is nearly the size of the kitchen in his shabby New York City studio. “Holy shit, is that one of those rain shower heads?”

“Yep.” 

“Fuck man, you LA folks know how to live!” 

Smiling, Armie leans against the vanity and watches Tim kick off his sneakers, wriggle out of his lucky lavender plane socks and step inside the shower to turn it on, jumping out of the gentle overhead stream. When Tim told him he would be in LA for several months filming his next role, Armie had insisted he stay with his family. He’s missed the kid’s wheezy laugh and boundless positive energy. 

He’d actually told Elizabeth after Tim accepted the offer, but he kept that bit of information to himself. His wife does love Tim and is delighted to have him — he’s family at this point and the kids are excited that Uncle Timmy is here— but she was annoyed Armie hadn’t asked her first. 

Tim wipes his feet carefully on the plush, yellow bath mat. “So, uh, I’m a little nervous about this shoot,” he confesses. 

“Yeah? Why?” 

“Well, first I have to lose a bunch of weight.” 

“The fuck you do! You’re already too skinny.” Armie’s gaze glides over Tim’s snug jeans and bulky sweater. He’s so slim Armie is certain Tim could fit into one of his pant legs, like in one of those photos where formerly obese people show how much weight they’ve lost by donning their old clothes. 

“I know, but Felix, the director, thinks I should be thinner to, you know, convincingly play someone struggling with drug addiction,” he shrugs one shoulder.

_Fucking sadistic directors._

Not for the first time since their idyllic Italian summer, Armie longs for Luca’s compassionate approach to filmmaking. He would never make such a demand of his actors. 

“Well, for the record, I think that’s bullshit and I’ll be keeping a close eye on you. What else is troubling you?” 

Tim nudges Armie’s thighs apart with his knee so he can step between them, bracing his hands on the counter. “I’m just … it’s gonna be a dark headspace to inhabit, you know? I’ll have to immerse myself in trauma and pain. Self-loathing, disappointment and failure,” he takes a shuddering breath and looks up at Armie with wide eyes, “so I’m really happy I’ll be here. With you. Where I’ll be safe. I might need your help, like a lot, to get through this, though.” 

Armie feels himself slipping beneath the surface of those limpid green pools. Tim bites his lip and Armie tracks the movement, recalling the pillowy softness of Tim’s mouth against his. Tim sways forward, but Armie grips his biceps, stopping his momentum just before their lips meet. He pushes him back gently, but firmly. 

“Timmy, I will absolutely be here for you and give you all the support you need. But we can’t do this, OK? I’m married. We just can’t.” 

Tim flushes crimson. 

“Sorry, sorry. God, that was dumb. And inappropriate. Totally out of line. Don’t worry, Armie. I, I promise it won’t happen again,” he stammers, scurrying out of the bathroom. 

Staring at his stricken expression in the mirror, Armie drags a hand over his face. He can’t believe he was fucking stupid enough to invite temptation to stay under his roof. 

**_March 2018_**

“I’m so sorry. Please, don’t be mad at me.” 

“Huh? Why would I be mad?” 

“Because I was a fucking rambling, nonsensical mess up there and I made a careless comment that’s gonna pour gasoline on the whole ‘Charmie’ brushfire online and I’m pretty sure your mom hates me and now Liz is gonna hate me and —” 

“Whoa, Timmy. You need to calm down. Close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down Tim’s arms. 

With his heart racing, Tim gulps lungs full of muggy Austin air. 

“Good, just keep breathing.” Armie’s deep voice vibrates around him, soothing his frayed nerves. “Look at me. Better now?” 

Tim nods. 

“OK, now listen. Your speech was wonderful. Yeah, you did your usual bit where you start out saying one thing and then take a couple of detours and off-ramps to tangentially related anecdotes and laugh awkwardly once you realize you’ve lost the plot before you finally circle around to the point you were initially trying to make, and it was adorable as always,” he grins, brushing a wayward curl behind Tim’s ear. 

“And I knew when I asked you to present me with this stupid award that you were probably gonna do that.”

Tim tucks his fist beneath his chin, smiling sheepishly.

“But the things you said, Timmy,” Armie pauses, eyes momentarily falling shut. “Jesus, I had no idea you felt that way about me and I really have no idea why you do. I’m not an ideal roadmap for success in this fucked up industry or in life. My career has been one flop after another, my marriage sometimes feels like it’s hanging by a thread, I barely talk to my brother, my mom and I can’t be in the same room with each other for very long without arguing and I only see my dad twice a year, at most. Whatever you do, don’t be like me. You’re brilliant, talented and kind with a supportive network of family and friends who truly love you. Fuck, I should be following _your_ lead,” he chuckles. 

Frowning, Tim shakes his head. “No, Armie, you’re wrong.” 

Armie cups Tim's beautiful face in his hands, stroking his thumbs across his cheeks. 

“Thank you for flying here on short notice to do this for me. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for always believing in me, even when no one else does. I love you, Timmy.” 

Armie presses his cool, dry lips to Tim’s forehead and the corner of his eye, catching a salty tear. 

**_November 2019_**

In the end, Armie takes the cowardly way out.

**Armie:** Hey, you busy? 

**Timmy:** not too busy for you, Hammer Time. ’sup?

**Armie:** I have some news. 

**Timmy:** ???

**Armie:** Liz and I are separating and getting a divorce. 

Tim’s name flashes on the screen with a FaceTime request. Cringing, Armie ignores it. 

**Armie: **Can’t talk now, headed into a meeting with my lawyer, just wanted to let you know. 

**Timmy:** you ok? 

**Timmy:** of course you’re not, god that was dumb. Do you need me to fly to LA? 

Staring out the window of Nick’s condo at the ocean heaving beneath a gunmetal gray sky, Armie fights a crushing desire to cry. This man is everything and he doesn’t deserve his friendship. 

**Armie:** Nah, I’m good. Staying with Nick. Besides, you have promo and awards campaigning to do, your majesty. 

**Timmy:** shut up dumbass! I don’t care, I’d drop all that shit for you. If you want me there. If you need me. Do you? 

He wants to say yes. Yes, he needs him like fucking oxygen. He needs him so he has a reason, other than his children, to get up in the morning. He needs him so he knows one day he can have love and happiness in his life again. 

But he realizes that would be selfish. Timmy has his own charmed life to lead. He doesn’t need some washed up dude in his thirties draped around his neck like a goddamn albatross, keeping him earthbound when he’s destined to soar among the stars. So, Armie lies again. 

**Armie:** Appreciate the offer man, but you gotta handle your business. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. You know, probably better than anyone, this was a long time coming. All of us will be better off when it’s done —me, Liz, the kids. If you want to do something for me, go out and fucking shine. 

**Timmy:** ok, if you’re sure. Call me if you need me. Anytime. Love you, man. 

**Armie:** Right back at ya, Sweet T! 

** _December 27, 2020 _ **

Armie shoves the final bite of tender ribeye into his mouth and looks around for something else to eat. He’s not still hungry, on the contrary he’s stuffed, but he’s been using constant chewing to deflect Tim’s questions about the divorce, which was finalized last month. 

“How are you really feeling Armie?” Tim asks, rolling his glass of red wine between his palms.

He reaches for the last roll and tears off a chunk before answering. “I’m good,” he mumbles around the bread that seems to swell in his mouth, threatening to choke him.

“Are you?” Tim arches an eyebrow. “Because from where I’m sitting, you seem stressed out and kinda weird.” 

Armie drops the roll. 

“Really, Timmy, I’m fine. With Tessa’s help, my place is finally furnished so it doesn’t look like a sleazy frat house anymore. The kids and I have established a routine for the two weeks out of the month they’re with me and Liz and I are being civil to each other. I couldn’t ask for anything more,” he says, forcing a grin. 

_Except for you. I could ask for you._

“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” Tim smiles broadly. 

“What about you, my no longer baby boy?” 

Tim snorts and drains his glass. 

“You’re twenty-five. What’s on your agenda for the upcoming year besides work? Finally gonna settle down?” 

His laugh sounds strained and hollow to his own ears. Armie wishes he could suck those words out of the air. He doesn’t really want to know if Tim is seeing anyone special. He’s also desperate to find out. 

Tim’s eyes bore into his. “Well, there is someone. The most beautiful, loving, caring soul I’ve ever met. I’ve been waiting for him to be free for what feels like a lifetime.” 

Armie’s heart rate speeds up. This is what he’s wanted since that day more than four years ago when he burst into Tim’s piano lesson, unwittingly knocking his carefully ordered world off its axis. It would be so easy to surrender now. To take what he desperately craves. Tim is offering him everything he’s ever wanted — love, friendship, acceptance, support and understanding. 

But he’s not ready. It’s still too soon after the implosion of his marriage. He’s seeing a therapist, but he needs more time to learn how to be a loving and supportive partner; how to talk openly and honestly about his feelings; how to set boundaries and communicate what he needs in a relationship. And because he’s terrified of fucking this up, of ruining what he believes would be his one chance for happiness with Tim, he decides he has to shut this down, as painful as it will be for both of them. 

Armie gulps his whiskey, then clears his throat. 

“Timmy, this isn’t … the right time for us.” 

“What do you mean? You’re finally fucking divorced and I’m not dating anyone.”

“I know, I know,” he shakes his head. “But I need to work on myself before I can possibly be any good for you.” 

“No you don’t. I mean, you can work on yourself, that’s always a positive thing for anyone to do,” he clarifies. “But you’re already good for me, Armie. You’re perfect for me. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

His words are like a keen blade jammed between Armie’s ribs. 

“I know you believe that and it means everything to me that you feel that way, it really does. But I know myself and if I don’t deal with my issues, I will hurt you and ruin us and you’ll end up hating me. And that would kill me, T.” 

“I could never hate you! Never,” Tim whispers fiercely. 

“Give me some time, yeah?” 

Armie covers Timmy’s slender hand with his own, brushing his thumb lightly across his knuckles. 

“How much time?” 

“Let’s say, a year?” 

“Fuck Armie!” Tim snatches his hand away. “Why so fucking long?” 

“I may not need that much time, but it’s probably better to overestimate and be pleasantly surprised than underestimate and be bitterly disappointed, right?” 

“I don’t know,” he whines, looking away. “That’s a really long time. What are we supposed to do? Just be friends?”

“Yeah. Like we’ve always been. When we get together, it will be worth it and so much better, you’ll see.”

Unconvinced but resigned, Tim agrees. 

“Thanks, Timmy. I swear I’ll make it up to you,” Armie says, feeling like he can breathe again. 

** _June 2021 _ **

“Timmy!” Armie exclaims when his face pops up on the screen. “How’s your third tour of duty in Budapest going?” 

Tim laughs. “It’s good. It’s like getting the band back together over here. We’ve all kinda fallen back into our offscreen roles from the first Dune shoot.” 

Armie’s eyes drink up Tim’s gorgeous face. When he was filming in Jordan, it had been harder to coordinate FaceTime calls. 

“So, Hops wants to know if the sandworms really —”

Tim cuts him off. “There’s something I need to tell you.” 

Looking closely, Armie can practically see the anxiety rolling off him in waves. His stomach churns with cold dread. 

“Okaaaay…” 

“Remember when I went to Paris three weeks ago to visit Pauli? 

“Yeah?” Armie was supposed to meet up with them, but Ford had developed a fever and Elizabeth had flown to Dallas unexpectedly to handle a bakery emergency, so Armie had canceled his trip. 

Tim draws a deep breath. 

“I met someone,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. 

A million thoughts race through his mind, but all Armie says is, “Oh.” 

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, Armie. I just … one of Pauli’s friends introduced us and we hit it off and ended up hanging out the whole time I was there. After I left, we kept texting and talking and now —”

“Now?” 

“I want to see where it goes.” Tim blinks at him, eyes watering. “With Jules.” 

_Jules._

“Yeah, of course, by all means you should, Timmy. See where it goes,” Armie croaks. 

He knows Tim has largely put his love life on hold since they met in Crema five years ago. Sure, he fucked around casually a bit, he had needs after all, but he never dated seriously. He was waiting for Armie. It’s not Tim’s fault Armie hadn’t been emotionally available, even though he was finally free. 

“I’m sorry, Armie. It’s just been so hard waiting. It’s been _years _and I really tried,” he’s bawling openly now, “but I can’t do it anymore. I’m so lonely when we aren’t in the same city, which rarely happens these days. Unless —” 

Armie seizes on the word like a drowning man clutching a lifeline, “Unless?” 

“Are you ready now? For us to try? If you are, I’ll delete Jules’s number so fast,” Tims laughs through his tears. His face is splotchy and snot runs freely from his nose. He’s still the most gorgeous human Armie has ever seen. 

He wants to say yes, but he’s not ready. He and his therapist have just begun delving into his complicated relationship with his mother and Armie knows that toxic dynamic played an outsize role in his marriage to Liz. He’s pretty sure it won’t matter that Tim’s a man, either, because Armie’s issues with his mother revolve around his feelings of inadequacy and lack of self-worth, not gender. That’s some deep shit he has to work through before he can dive into a new relationship. Truthfully, he’s not even sure if he’ll be ready in time to meet the one year deadline he gave Tim on his birthday. 

It’s not fair to keep him hanging on like this, wasting the best years of his youth. Armie has to let him go.

Tears spill over onto his scruffy cheeks.

“No, T. I’m not ready and honestly, I’m not sure when I will be. I want you to be happy, though. You deserve to be. So if,” he swallows thickly, “Jules makes you happy, you have my blessing.” 

They’re both sobbing. 

“But if he hurts you, he’s gonna have to answer to a six-foot-five, righteously pissed off American who’s one hundred percent that motherfucker. You tell him that, OK?” 

“I’ll tell him, Armie. I promise.” 

** _August 12, 2023_ **

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, the joining of two hearts. On behalf of Timothée and Jules, I would like to thank all of you for being here this afternoon, not only to be a part of this day, but to be a part of each other’s lives.” 

It’s still too fucking hot and Armie feels lightheaded. As another wave of nausea washes over him, he’s thankful he skipped breakfast. He could use a drink, though. Preferably, something very cold and very strong. 

Instinctively, Armie reaches for his wedding band, ready to twist it around his ring finger. Of course, it’s not there and hasn’t been for nearly four years. He bounces his left knee and wrings his hands instead. 

“Now, our gorgeous grooms didn’t know I was going to say this traditional part, but it’s always good for a laugh. So here goes, if there is anyone here who can show just cause why Timothée and Jules may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” 

Guests are tittering and smirking. A few people play along with the farce, craning their necks to look around. Tim and Jules are giggling. Everyone is having a grand old time. 

_Time to fucking speak or die, Hammer. _

Long fingers encircle his right wrist like a vise. He glances at Luca who is giving him a death glare. Armie shakes him off, shrugging apologetically. 

He rises to his full height, towering over the people seated to his left, who regard him with alarm. As the officiant is about to proceed with the ceremony, Armie’s rumbling baritone cuts through the dying laughter, “I have a good reason.” 

Every head whips around and two hundred pairs of wide eyes focus on him. But Armie only searches out the soulful green eyes that have haunted his dreams ever since he first looked into them in a sun-splashed salon in Crema. 

He briefly notes that while almost everyone looks bewildered or horrified, including the grooms and their parents, Pauline is grinning like a loon at her brother’s side. 

Armie strides down the aisle, fully aware of the imposing figure he cuts, despite the fact that his designer suit is rumpled and he’s sweating like a sinner in church. Jules and his brother look like they want to murder him. Tim is pale and trembling, his mouth stretched open into a perfect ‘O’. 

Armie stops when he reaches the first row. The silence is deafening. 

“I have a very good reason why they shouldn’t marry. Two actually.” 

His piercing blue eyes sweep over Tim’s face. Encouragingly, Armie doesn’t see anger, only confusion. And maybe, though this could be wishful thinking on his part, a glimmer of hope. 

“I’m crazy in love with Timothée Chalamet, have been for the past seven years. He’s crazy in love with me, too.” 

Pandemonium erupts. 

Nicole swears loudly. Pauline shrieks with glee, pumping her fist in the air. Madame Bertrand faints. 

Jules lunges at Armie, grabbing him by the throat. With an unfair assist from his brother, who jumps on Armie’s back, the groom is on the verge of taking Armie down when Luca swoops in like an Italian avenging angel to even the odds. 

Armie has Jules in a headlock, so he doesn’t see Pauline shaking Tim, who appears to be in shock. Luca straddles the brother, keeping the much younger man’s wrists pinned to the ground.

People are yelling and scampering away from the brawl, leaving overturned chairs and discarded wedding programs in their wake. Venue employees valiantly try to corral guests and lead them toward the safety of the mansion.

“Stop it! Jules, Armie let each other go!” Tim howls. 

The collar of Armie’s blazer is torn, he has scratches across his neck and blood dripping from his split bottom lip splatters his shirt and tie. A nasty bruise is blooming at Jules’s temple and his brother has a swollen middle finger. Luca emerges unscathed.

Every eye in the place is on Tim. 

He steps forward and stops in front of his fiancé, cupping his cheek and brushing his thumb lightly over the purplish skin. Relieved, Jules leans into Tim’s touch. 

Tears spring to Armie’s eyes. Turning his back on the tender scene, he trudges back up the ruined aisle, kicking at the twisted and torn runner. He’s almost reached the terrace when Tim cries, “Armie!” 

Turning, he sees Tim barreling toward him. Armie barely has time to brace himself before his arms are full of a squirmy, gangly Timmy, limbs cinched around his neck and waist. He’s crying and raining sloppy, wet kisses all over Armie’s face.

“I love you! God, I love you so much, Armie. What took you so fucking long? I love you. _Fuck_, I love you.” 

Someone whoops in the background and Armie’s pretty sure it’s Pauline. They cling to each other desperately. Eventually, Tim slides down Armie’s body until his feet touch the grass. Although Armie disrupted his wedding, causing a scandal that will no doubt make the cover of every tabloid in the United States and France, Tim suddenly looks small and frightened. 

Icy panic drips down Armie’s spine. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I should have waited for you. I never should have given up on us. Can you ever forgive me?” he asks in a hushed voice. 

Armie wants to kiss him senseless. He doesn’t know why Providence has smiled on him, blessing him with Tim’s unconditional love and devotion, but Armie resolves to do everything in his power to never fuck this up again. 

“No, Timmy. This is all my fault. It was a mistake to make you wait so long. I should have handled all my family shit, with therapy and everything else, while we worked on our relationship. You never asked or expected me to be perfect, you just wanted to love me. I should have let you.” 

They try to kiss around Armie’s injured lip, but it’s messy and awkward. Their effort ends with Armie wincing and blood smeared across Tim’s chin. 

Many guests flee along with the Bertrands, but Tim’s good friends — including some of his Hollywood pals — stay and party with them late into the night. It was already paid for, Tim says, so it doesn’t make sense to waste good food and expensive Champagne. (Armie ends up covering the tab.)

The story does, indeed, make all the tabloids. But the media have been in love with Armie and Tim for nearly as long as they’ve been in love with each other. Instead of framing the sabotaged wedding as a damaging, possibly career-ending scandal, the publications spin the story as the swoon-worthy culmination of an epic romance, years in the making. For once, Armie’s impulsiveness is celebrated. 

** _December 8, 2024_ **

They wed barefoot on the beach in the Caymans on an oppressively hot day wearing loose fitting linen suits. Their friends and family, including Armie’s children, dad and stepmother, join them. Armie’s mom doesn’t come, but she sends a gift, which the couple count as a major step towards her maybe, one day accepting their relationship. Their close-knit Call My By Your Name family is well represented — with Luca leading the European contingent and Michael marshaling the few Americans. 

Greta and Saoirse show up for the encore, too. 

Armie and Tim deliberately leave out the part of the wedding ceremony asking if anyone objects to their union. No need to tempt fate. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
